Five Eriks Later
by Queen of the Skye
Summary: A high school production of The Phantom of the Opera, a lonely singer, and Erik's four-times-great-grandson combine in highly unusual ways resulting in broken friendships, presumed insanity, misery, and romance. ON PROBABLY PERMANANT HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

Warning: this story is not designed to make sense. And it takes a while to actually relate to PotO. But trust me, it's worth it. Modern day, but you already know that because you presumably read the summary, and I can't really tell you anything more than that without giving everything away.

* * *

I was crying in the bathroom. Again. Heaving, inelegant sobs shook my body and reverberated quietly around the malodorous bathroom. Why was I weeping so emphatically? The same reason for which I always cry-everything. My lost friends, Jared Smith, the lack of anything worthwhile in my life, etcetera, etcetera…

"Katie?...You okay?" Ah, yes, my best (and only) friend in the whole world, come to deliver me from the cruel tortures of the world. Again.

"I'm in here, Deea." Sniffle. "In my usual state." Whimper, sniff.

Delaina Christofer's huge brown eyes appeared over the divide between stalls. "Lemme in."

"S'okay, Deea. I'm coming out anyway. And there's nothing (choke, sob) you can do…" I stood and opened the graffitied stall door. Deea pulled me into her arms.

"C'mere, Katie. It's okay." Oh, god, I loved Deea. I practically owed her my life—at least I owed her the better part of my sanity. "We've gotta go to class, before Ms. Parker blows her top."

"I'm coming…" I sighed. I didn't think I could stand another second of Ms. Parker's dry lectures on the Great Depression. Or being interrogated by her again.

"Here's our pass from the nurse, where we've been," Deea said as she led me from the bathroom. "You got some dust in your eye, and we had to go to the nurse. 'Kay?" Another one of Deea's crazy plans for keeping me out of trouble—but they worked. As I said, I owed her.

"Delaina Christofer and Katherine Gregg." Uhg, full name. "What is your excuse this time?" Ms. Parker asked with acid in her voice.

"Katie got some dirt in her eye and we had to go to the nurse," Deea said quickly. "Here, we've got a pass." She brandished the slip of paper like a sword.

I took my seat and got out a piece of paper to 'take notes.' In reality, I doodled. Most of my doodles consisted of Jared's name, much embellished, and the words of whatever song was stuck in my head at that moment.

And there it was again! That bloody feeling of being watched. I've always been shy, and thus very in tune with who is looking at me in any particular moment, but this feeling was so much stronger than anything I'd ever felt. Like something _in my head_ (and something outside, truthfully) was watching me. The feeling dissolved when the bell rang and Deea grabbed my arm, pulling me along with her. "Help," I said flatly, "I'm being kidnapped."

"Come on, Katie! Movie night!" Movie night was a tradition, continued almost every school Friday since 8th grade.

"What torture have you planned for me this evening, Delaina?" I used her full name to irritate her.

"The Phantom of the Opera. Come _on_!"

We couldn't just start, though. There were certain rituals that had to be done—the fight with Deea's little brother and sister (10 year old twins) for the TV. That was arm-wrestling, and we always won. Then the argument with Deea's mother over the kitchen so we could make pizza, never ordering, and finally, (when this was all over it was dark) to the movie. The Phantom of the Opera.

"What's it about?" I asked Deea.

"Shut up, Katie." She tossed me a battered purple notebook—my movie notebook. See, I always talk during movies, and so Deea made me write it down to ask her after the movie, if I still needed to. I flipped through the book-'Thirteen Going on 30,' 'Sleepover,' every single bloody James bloody Bond, every single movie night movie we had ever seen. _Phantom of the Opera_, I wrote on the first blank page, and shut up to watch.

My questions were nonexistent that night. I found myself shivering at the music-oh, god, that was beautiful. Stifling laughter and tears. Wow.

2 hours, 21 minutes and 7 seconds later, the movie was over. "Well?" Deea asked, her voice soft and awed.

"Wow. Just wow."

I fell asleep on Deea's bedroom floor to Phantom playing in my head. So it's only natural that it played through my dreams. Basically, the entire movie played over and over through my subconscious world.

Then the dream changed, and it was only the Phantom, only the Phantom's voice, and as I watched, he changed. He appeared to be rotting…I should have been afraid, but this wasn't a nightmare. This was beautiful. "The woods," he said, and his voice had changed too. Oh, god... "Do you understand?" he asked in that new and horribly wonderful voice.

"Yes," I said, "I understand." And then Deea was shaking me awake. "Are you okay, Katie? It sounded like you were having a nightmare…"

"No. Not a nightmare," I murmured. "Go back to sleep."

The next morning, in the bright sunlight, it was hard to take my strange, cryptic dream seriously. And I didn't understand—the woods? What woods? Not the…maybe…if anything, it was just my imagination, but anyway, I declined Deea's offer of a ride home. "It's okay, I'll walk. It's only about a mile anyway."

"If you insist. Bye Katie, and trust me, you'll be glad we watched that movie!" Deea called as I walked out her back door.

Our houses were separated by a mile of thin, safe woods. Mom had let me walk to and from Deea's house via these woods when I was twelve, and they were the only woods within half an hour of my house. _And surely, if he can take the trouble to appear to me in a dream, he'll know that I can't drive for a month yet._

I stepped into a clearing about halfway through, and stopped. "Well?" My voice sounded shrill and scared. "I'm waiting."

—Who are you waiting for? — said a voice in my head.

Oh, joy. "You," I said to the voice.

—So you understood. — I nodded.—Many do not.—

"What are you here for, oh-voice-inside-my-head?"

—I am here to teach you to sing.—

"Why?" And anyway, I already know how to sing. I've been in chorus since third grade!

—Because.—

"Oh, god."

—Sing something.—

"No. Someone'll hear me." This was getting weird.

—No one will hear you. Sing.—

Oh, fine. I sang the first thing that came to my head, which was, predictably, _"Think of me, think of me fondly—"_

—No, no, you must…—

And thus began my lessons from the Voice Inside My Head. I decided I was crazy. But when he (I knew it was a 'he') told me to come back the next day, I knew that I would.

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So, what do you think? Tell me, ie, review!


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, because I'm fairly sure we aren't allowed to reply to reviews in an author's note, I will merely say, to the person who told me they cared, no, everything is not sunshine and flowers and happiness. There is strife and extreme annoyance as well. Also, the person who told me they cared was my only reviewer. Please, please, if you are reading this, review, even if it's just to say that you hate the darned thing and think it should be deleted immediately. Seriously. I am that desperate.

* * *

The Voice was there when I returned the next day. —Hello, Katherine.—

"Look," I said. I had no patience for my full name so early on a Saturday morning. "Since you live inside my head, you will know that I hate my full name. It's Katie, or Kate if you must."

—I do not live inside your head, _Katie_.—

"Then where are you? _Who_ are you?"

—You may call me Erik. As for where I live, I'm not alive, and I do not reside in any sort of place as you would think of it. And that is all you shall learn on the subject.—

"I am crazy."

—I am now going to teach you Christine from _The Phantom of the Opera_, a role with which I believe you are familiar.—

"Why?" I was insane.

—That is unimportant.—

And I sang, sang for an hour or more. Luckily, Mom had long since given up trying to regulate me, and as long as I was home by dark, she didn't really care. When at last I began to grow hoarse, Erik released me, with a warning. —Tell no one of me, Katie. This is important.— The menace in his voice was such that I didn't question him.

I decided to go to Deea's house (I was halfway there anyway) and my head was still spinning when I arrived. "Where's Deea?" I asked her mom.

"She's in the greenhouse, Katie. Want any breakfast?" Her voice, coming through my ears rather than directly into my head, was something of a shock.

"No thanks, Mrs. Cristofer," and I raced to the greenhouse. My friend was there, watering tomatoes. "Deea?"

She turned. Her eyes were full of tears, her nose red, and her expression was that of a person who is _so_ not crying. But she smiled when she saw me. "I'm okay, Katie. I just…"

I understood. Both Deea and I were painfully emotional. And we both knew exactly how to deal with it-tease. "Oh, gosh, Deea," I said, false tears welling up in my eyes. "I know. Tomatoes are just…so, so…painful!"

"Shut up, Katie!"

We went for a walk, sometimes chatting, sometimes just walking. I tried to be normal, but I should have known better than to try to fool my best friend. "Okay, Katie," she said, her voice thick with exasperation. "Spit it out. You're being, y'know, all _weird_. Are you, like, in love or something?" And I told just enough about Erik, The Voice Inside My Head, to satisfy her curiosity. Not the singing, just his existence. She agreed with me. I was probably going insane.

Erik was angry when I went on Sunday. Really angry, quake-in-fear angry. —You told your friend.— I almost ran away.

"_You_ don't control my life, and you can't command my silence."

—I command your voice, Katherine.—

"Why should I even _care_, Erik? You're a voice in my head, and I don't see what's so special about me or my bloody voice!"

—Your voice is your future. In fact, it is your very near future.—

"So you say, but—"

—Enough! We have much work to do today.—

Monday at school, it was as if I was _not_ possessed by a voice in my head named Erik. Imagine that. It took, I think, one look at Jared, the (unrequited) love of my life, and one dirty look from Anna Bobson, my former friend, to remind me who I was. A friendless, unloved nobody. And so I went through the day in my usual state, ie, barely holding back tears.

Then, during afternoon announcements, through a haze of Ms. Parker-induced boredom, the principal's voice cut through. "A reminder that auditions for the winter musical, the Phantom of the Opera, will be next Monday, and any students interested in auditioning should see Mr. Abbey, room 173…"

I turned to Deea. "You knew, didn't you?!"

She giggled. "Well, yeah. I was in Mr. Abbey's office a few weeks ago and I saw. I've been practicing since then…you gonna try for Christine?"

Yes. "I don't know. Could I? I mean, you're the one in the drama club and sophomores don't usually get leading roles, do they?"

"Katie, you can try out for any role you want. And you'll do great." Oh, how I owed my friend. "Just don't hate me if I get it, right?"

Deea drove us to her house, both of us clutching photocopied scripts, not talking much. "You want to practice at my place?" Deea asked. "The Torture Twins are at soccer, Mom will be there to cheer them on, and Dad's not going to be home till late, so we'll have the house to ourselves."

"Okay." We rushed to Deea's keyboard, and she flipped through the score looking for _Think of Me_, the classic Christine audition piece. When she found it, she played the first few notes hesitantly, then began to sing. I _loved_ the sound of Deea's voice, but still, she needed practice. "Wait, that was off beat there." Deea gave me a cross-eye look and fixed it. We went through the whole song that way, and overall, she sounded beautiful.

"Your turn, Katie, and you are going down!" she said, enthusiastic to give me the same treatment she had gotten. I started—and finished. Deea had a sort of dumbstruck look on her face. "Why didn't I know you could sing like that? I mean, you have _really_ been holding back in chorus."

"Like what? I just—" I just sang like Erik had taught me to in the last few days.

"Oh, like nothing, Katie! People spend their entire lives trying to sing like that. And you just…do it!"

Our afternoon was ruined, and I started home about 20 minutes later, feeling awkward and embarrassed. Deea had wanted me to teach her, and I had no idea where to begin. And, to make a bad afternoon worse, Erik's voice sounded through my head when I reached our lesson place. —You will not sing with her again, Katie.—

"Um, excuse me?" I gasped. "Deea is my _friend_. I can understand how you might not understand that, being a disembody—"

—Your voice is _mine_. And Delaina is less loyal than you might think.—

"Actually, Erik, it's _my_ vocal cords and my larynx, so I would say that my voice is mine. Sorry to ruin your illusions about that…"

—Do you want to play Christine?—

"Yes, absolutely, but—"

—Then you do as I say. And I say that you will not sing with her again. Now to our lesson.—

The days passed far too quickly from Monday to Friday. To explain my prolonged absence, I told Deea that my mother was making me help her with a project, about which I was incredibly vague. I could tell that she didn't really believe me, but she accepted it anyway. Oh, how I owed my friend, no matter what bloody Erik said.

Erik kept me almost all Saturday and Sunday. I sort of wanted to kill him (really, just a little) but for two things. One, my voice was changing and flourishing and becoming so beautiful under his tutelage that I knew I never could, and two, it's hard to kill someone who doesn't physically exist. Honestly, though, I had never met such a perfectionist. Sometimes, every note I sang was wrong—too long or too short, too soft or too loud. It took all my effort to keep from screaming and/or stalking off in a huff.

Why didn't I? It would be easy, so easy, to forget Erik, forget all of this, but some deeply-sunk instinct told me to stick with it. And I really, really wanted to be Christine!

Monday came, and the school day passed without my taking in a word of it. All I could think of were the auditions, and to heck with algebra, American history, English, even chorus could not command my attention. Although in chorus, once again I knew I was being stared at, and it was a person this time. My eyes flickered nervously around the room, scanning faces, wondering who could possibly care about _me_. Nothing.

After what seemed like years of Ms. Parker, we were finally released. Deea led me to the auditorium, and we sat together, looking around us, with Deea gauging who else was auditioning and me quivering in panic. And of course my dear schizophrenia symptom, Erik, was there to comfort me. —You _will_ play Christine, Katie.—

"Oh?" I muttered, wishing he hadn't decided to show up. "And you would know this how?" Deea looked at me, and I gave a weak smile. "Talking to my Voice."

—I assure you, Katie, that already you are many times better than anyone else in the school, and your director will not be fool enough to ignore that.—

By this point, the auditorium had a healthy collection of chattering students. Mostly girls; the few boys present were in a corner looking at once nervous and scornful. One boy sat away from the others, in the shadows, and I was twisting to get a better look at him when Mr. Abbey appeared on the stage. "Okay! Hello, welcome, all of you!" I began to freak out. How could I possibly get Christine? How could— "As any of you who have ever been in one of our productions know, I'll start with those auditioning for minor roles—" groans "—followed by Raoul, the Phantom, and finally Christine."

No, I had to go _last_?! But there was nothing I could do about it, just watch helplessly as various minor-character-wannabes took their turns on the stage. When Mr. Abbey started calling the boys auditioning for Raoul, I was astonished (delighted) to see _Jared_, of all people. I mean, I knew he sang, we were in chorus together, but still… "Now I have a real motivation to get Christine," I whispered to Deea, who giggled.

Auditions for the Phantom came next. There were only three of them—one of them was shadow-boy, who I vaguely recognized as Erik Mercer, also in our enormous chorus. _Huh, my Voice's name…_and it was 'my' Erik's voice! Almost. Somewhat different, and omigod, so beautiful.

As fate (conspiring with my miserable luck) would have it, my least favorite person in school, Brooke Lewis, was the first to audition for Christine.

"She _always_ gets the leads," Deea, who would know about these things, hissed in my ear. "I don't know why, she's crap…" She wasn't exactly crap, but she sounded like a pop star.

The duds outnumbered those who actually sang, for example, Joy Cheeseman sang so quietly that not even Mr. Abbey could hear her. But the rest sang, and some of them were really good—my already thin confidence in Erik and in my own voice began to fail once again.

"Delaina Christofer!" Deea gave me a nervous smile and I squeezed her hand, the only comfort I could offer when I myself was shaking in fear, but my friend sang really well, much better than Brooke.

"Katherine Gregg!" It hit me then—I was _last_. A sort of terrified resignation settled over me, and I calmly ascended the stage, ignoring the derisive looks I got from Brooke and her posse of friends.

—Sing, Katie.—

I sang.

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God, parts of this chapter sound like a Nancy Drew book…sorry for that! Review!


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you (again) to Reiko Rose () who is one of my only _two_ reviewers. The other one is The Little Corinthian and many thanks to you as well. And just to clarify, Rose, Katie has had an average/slightly-better-than-average voice for several years, and a little bit of Erik goes a long way. In addition (and I believe I've mentioned this) it's not designed to be too realistic. It is not designed to make sense.

* * *

Two painful days later, a list appeared beside Mr. Abbey's door. Callbacks. Deea frantically scanned the list before turning to me, her face glowing with triumph. "We got callbacks!"

"Who else?" I asked.

"Guess."

I giggled. "Jared Smith?"

"You betcha. And that Erik Mercer guy too. I don't even remember the others."

Mr. Abbey did the minor characters first; Deea and I waited in a corner of the auditorium pretending to do our homework. Finally he summoned the Eriks, Christines and Raouls—there were only three Christines (Deea, me, and a buxom senior named Brooke) and only two each of the Eriks and Raouls.

"So! Let's get started. You guys are going to be reading some scenes. I want to see what the chemistry's like, how the cast will interact with one another. Okay? Great, Brooke, Alan, and Jared—you guys go first." Alan was the other potential Erik. Brooke slithered over the two boys, to the point that I think she made Alan, who was pale and shy and not really a bad singer, all things considered, a bit nervous.

"Can you say 'slutty?'?" Deea muttered out of the corner of her mouth. I had to agree with her, but I had no idea what we would do when our time came. I did the same scene with Erik and Cosmo, the curly-haired junior who was the other Raoul candidate. I gritted my teeth and pretended it was Jared.

Deea drove us home again, as she had every day since she got her license on September 2. She seemed even more obsessed than usual. "Did I do okay? Do you think Mr. Abbey liked it? Can you see me as Christine? What—"

"Deea!" I bellowed. "You know that _I_ think you did great, but I'm your best friend. If you want unbiased feedback, well, you'll have to wait until Friday when the cast list is posted like the rest of us."

We lived pretty far out of town, about half an hour, so it took about that long for Deea to be satisfied. When we got to her house, she gave me huge puppy eyes and asked, "Katie? You sure you can't stay for a little bit? I mean, that thing with your mom must be over, right?"

I hesitated. After all, Erik hadn't said anything about just hanging out… "Okay." We watched snippets of the movie, Deea did the choosing. I loved it all too much. It was getting dark and cold by the time I left, and Erik, predictably, was angry.

—You are late.— he informed me when I reached our practice spot.

"This is true. I was at callbacks, and then I went to Deea's, as you said nothing about having a life."

—Who was at the callbacks?— Why was he asking?

"I didn't really pay attention, except Jared Smith is probably going to be Raoul and Erik Mercer is probably the Phantom. Plus me, Deea, and Brooke Lewis," I told him, wondering why I did it. Our lesson was short that day.

Friday arrived. Deea and I raced to Mr. Abbey's door, but he just laughed at us and said, "This afternoon." So, that afternoon, we went again. Deea was a lot more enthusiastic than me, and I lost her in the crowd. It was a while before I could see the cast list, as early viewing required sharp elbows and the will to use them. Finally, the crowd cleared, and I got up and read,

_Final Cast List:_ in Mr. Abbey's messy handwriting.

_Meg Giry…_

…_the Phantom-Erik Mercer_

_Raoul-Jared Smith_

_Christine-Katherine Gregg_

_Erik, Jared and Katherine, please see me._

I went into his office, stunned. How did this happen?

Where was Deea?

All Mr. Abbey wanted us for was a lecture on how, as the leading roles, we had to be there and on time for every rehearsal, yadda, yadda, yadda. He singled me out for the comment that it was unusual to cast a sophomore in a leading role, and I had better show that I was responsible enough.

When he finally released us, I went to the parking lot, hoping Deea would be waiting for me. But her blue minivan was gone. Why had she ditched me? I watched Jared carefully, hoping he would offer me a ride…

"Need a ride?" came a voice from behind me. I turned and saw it was Erik—and for the first time, I got a really good, full-on look at him. He was thin – skeletally thin, his eyes were deep-set and golden, and his nose was so small as to almost pass unnoticed. Something about him—especially the eyes—was familiar, but I couldn't place it.

"Sure." Deea was obviously not here. "Mine left without me."

"C'mon then." Erik led me to a rather old, extremely battered black car. I got in. The interior was clean and nondescript, except for the fact that the backseat was stuffed full of papers in manila folders. "Congratulations on getting Christine, by the way."

"Oh. Thanks." Somehow, my role seemed unimportant in the face of _my_ _best friend_ ditching me. She would _never_ have left me on purpose… "Um, actually, if it's not too out of your way, could you drop me off at the library?" An idea, well, something to do, at least, had occurred to me, and I could always take the city bus home.

"Not at all. If you won't accuse me of being a stalker, that was actually where I was going too."

The library was a large, modern building on the top of a big hill (a hill which, I might add, was almost impossible to bike up). Erik parked near the entrance and I went inside, found a computer, and typed: _phantom of the opera_. Okay. Great.

I met Erik at the entrance with my prize in hand. "Research," by way of an explanation. "Have you read it?"

"Often," he said with a wry look, and offered no further comment except, "Can you give me directions to your house?"

"Yeah. Thanks a lot, by the way. I don't want to be a pain or anything."

"No problem, Katherine. No problem at all." All right, considering what most boys in school thought of me (plain, miserable, uninteresting girl), why was this almost-stranger being so nice? _And by the way,_

"It's Katie, or Kate if you prefer. Just not Katherine. Sorry to jump on you, I hate my full name. Oh, left up at this intersection."

"Katie then." We were silent until the car hit a bump, and the glove box exploded onto my lap. _God, how did he manage to fit so much paper into such a small space?_ The top paper looked as if it had been official once and said, in large letters, _Erik Mercer VI_. "Excuse me," Erik said suddenly, and gathered up the paper mountain. "That's private."

"The _sixth_? That's a lot of Eriks," I said, more or less ignoring him. "Turn right up here."

"It's a long story…" he began, but I finished for him.

"It's a long way to my house. Why all the Eriks?"

"Okay, fine. So, my four-times-great grandfather was the first Erik. All I know about him is that he was a really reclusive French musician…he's also supposedly why I bear some resemblance to a resurrected corpse."

"You don't look like a corpse, you're just a bit skinny!" I protested.

"Thank you," he said dryly, and I could tell he didn't believe me. But it was _true_! "This is a very strange conversation we're having. Do I turn up here?"

"No, and that's not so uncommon around me. Did I tell you I'm insane?" Well, fine, this was a strange conversation. Stranger than usual.

"You're not insane, Katie." He said this with such conviction, I couldn't contradict him.

"Um, left, then left again, then my house is the light blue one. 417." He did this, and stopped in front of my house. "Thanks, Erik."

"Again, no problem." Erik smiled, his whole face lighting up, _(and I really hate to admit this, when my heart belongs to Jared and him alone)_ but at that moment he could have been mistaken for good-looking. Almost.

I would have gone straight through the woods to Deea's house, but I was waylaid, of course, by Erik. —Do you believe me now?—

"Get out of my head!" I shouted. "Yes, fine, I believe you, you were right, now please! I have no patience with signs of impending schizophrenia, even if they do give me voice lessons!"

A sound like a sigh rippled through my head. —You aren't insane, Katie.—

"People who hear voices no one else can hear are generally regarded as crazy. I'll have my lesson when I get back." I ran toward Deea's house.

Erik, of course, followed me. —Katherine! Stop! Now.— The menace in his voice was such that I did, in fact, Stop! Now. —The student does not decide the time for lessons. You have come far this past week but you have much still to learn—

"Fine." Fine, take my life, take my friends, take everything I have, just because I'm a person, not a crazy spirit who goes around giving singing lessons to young girls.

And when this particular lesson was over, I couldn't go see Deea at all, because it was nearly dark, and one of my few restrictions was that Mom had to know where I was after dark. Mom was waiting for me. "Are you alright, Katie? I thought I heard shouting."

"Venting my frustration with the world on some poor harmless trees, Mom." She was used to such excuses.

Mom smiled fondly. "With Deea?"

"Huh?" Omigod, Deea! I sprinted for the house, stabbing her number into the cordless hall phone. Her mother answered. "Hi, Mrs. Christofer? It's Katie. Is Deea there?"

"Mm-hm, just a minute. Deea!"

Deea answered, sounding sullen. "Yeah?"

"Um, Deea, it's Katie."

"What do you want?" This was not promising.

"Well, um, you left without me this afternoon, and I just, y'know, wondered why."

"Oh, _gosh_, Katie, I'm _so_ sorry," she said, acidic sarcasm and false sincerity dripping from every word. "It's just, I took not getting Christine really hard. Could you _possibly_ forgive me?"

"Deea! You know that—"

"What I know, Katie, is that after years of being average, you suddenly have a perfect voice, just in time to get the role I've wanted to play since I was _eleven fricking years old_! And I don't know if you're on drugs or something, but…You didn't do this without help, and I can't accept it." And then, my only friend on the whole bloody planet hung up on me, effectively ending our ten-year-old friendship.

* * *

This is the first chapter I've revised (I'm going through spazzy revision-action on all my stories). Review and tell me what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

This chapter kept coming out wrong. I had to re-type it at least four times. Thank you to my dear, faithful Reiko Rose (), who reviews every chapter (and you know that I live and die for reviews) as well as to The Little Corinthian. And to answer your question, Rose, Deea is emotional, emotionally attatched to the role of Christine (she's wanted to play it since age 11), and she and Katie both know that if not for Erik, Deea would have gotten the role. Plus, she has a jealousy problem. Come to think of it, so do I…

* * *

I was in shock. Deea had been a constant, ever since kindergarten when we shared cookies at snack time. Our friendship had survived Deea's family moving away for a year and a half, my father's death from cancer, the upheavals of middle school—and now it was over. Because of a high school production of the Phantom of the Opera and singing lessons from a disembodied voice.

It was about nine on a Friday night, but I crawled into bed, hugging my pillow for comfort. _Deea was gone…Deea was gone…my only bloody friend in the whole bloody world was gone…_ I cried, cried as I hadn't since Dad died when I was ten. My tears went on for a long, long time, and when I began to wind down, my pillow was spotted, my face was blotchy, and my eyes were red. But I wasn't asleep, which had been my goal, or dead, which had been a faint hope.

With nothing else to do, I went downstairs to get my book. My 'research.' I curled up on my beanbag with a bag of chips and set to reading. It wasn't easy; for one, my eyes periodically teared up again, for another, it was almost impossible for my sleepy brain to decode the 1911 language.

My eyes were even redder, my chips were long gone, and my temples were throbbing when I finally finished the darned thing. I lay back in my beanbag, debating whether or not to go to bed, mulling over the story. 'Demented' was the first adjective that came to my mind to describe the thing, but somehow that didn't seem right. One thing that seemed just too weird to be coincidence was the fact that the Phantom was named Erik. _I'll tell Erik on Monday…oh, right, he already knows…okay, fine, I'm going to bed._

Next morning, I resisted waking up for as long as I possibly could—the oblivion of sleep (even when said sleep was filled with dreams about corpses with glowing golden eyes) was so many million times better than anything the real world had to offer.

Through cracked eyelids, I surveyed my room—childishly painted purple and green, white carpet on the floor, closet, dresser, bookshelf. Behind the sheer, useless blue curtains over the window, I could see that the sky was blue, the sun was shining, and the maple tree right outside was an unbearably cheerful shade of green. Birds sang ironically. "That's right, world, mock my pain,' I grumbled as I stalked toward the bathroom, shooting the window another baleful glare.

I was a mess. My fine, shoulder-length hair had outdone itself for tangling and my eyes were crusty and red. Oh, hell.

_And Deea hates you._

"Shut the crap up!"

_Well, it's true._

"Oh, that's right, make a miserable day miserabler!"

_That's what I do!_

I yanked a brush through my hair, pretending that the fresh tears flowed from the pain. Not bothering to change out of my pajamas (I slept in an oversize t-shirt that ended at mid-thigh), I stomped downstairs. Ignoring my mother's cheerful greeting, I poured a bowl of cereal and attacked it as if each individual Cheerio was the cause of all my problems.

When the cereal was in its death throes, I threw it into the sink and ran out of the house, still in my pajamas. I had no idea where I was going but found myself at my lesson place, and Erik became the source of all my problems. "You miserable twit!" I shrieked. Tears began to stream down my face again. "You made me lose my only friend! You—"

—Stop shrieking, Katie, you'll ruin your voice.—

"My voice can tear itself to shreds for all I care! If it weren't for my stupid bloody voice, Deea would still be my friend, and I could still be normal, and I wouldn't hear voices in my head, and…and…"

—Delaina has a problem with jealousy.—

"How would you know? She's _my_ best friend!"

—Up until now, you haven't been worthy of jealousy.—

"Thanks."

—_Think_ about it, Katie. Use your head rather than your heart for once about this girl and _think_. And you know perfectly well that if you didn't want to kill me right now, you would think twice about saying that your voice didn't matter.—

"I hate you, but you may be right. Thank you."

—Your voice is my primary concern. I don't do it for you, believe me. And while you're here, we can begin our lesson.—

It took a while, but after an hour or so of singing, I felt better. Better enough, in fact, to realize that I was in my pajamas and that I should probably go home and get dressed. "Um, Erik? I'll come back later to finish the lesson, I promise…" He had disappeared. Brilliant. But against my will, my bad mood had disappeared, and I hummed happily under my breath as I made my careful (I was barefoot) way back to my house. Better, I no longer hated the beautiful day._ And it's all Erik's fault…_

_Well, I prefer being coerced into happiness than being miserable of my own accord._

_Misery is your natural state._

_Shut up._ I showered, dressed, did not look at the picture of me and Deea I kept above my dresser, and went downstairs in search of something to do. Something came to me instead: after about an hour of mindless boredom, the phone rang. Who in the world…Deea! I raced to pick up, but it wasn't Deea. It was Erik. Infinitely less than my best friend, but…

"Oh, hi, Erik. What's going on?"_ And why is he calling me? I only met the guy a week or so ago, barely. Not counting chorus. And wow, you could seriously fall in love with the guy if he only ever called you…_

"Um, I'm sorry, this must seem random, but…" Silence.

"But what?"

And in a rush, an odd sound for such a uniquely beautiful voice, "I was wondering if you would look over a piece of music of mi—for a friend."

"Say that again?" (If truth be told, I had understood him, but I wanted to enjoy his voice. It was like listening to _my_ Erik, except he wasn't being a controlling arse).

"I was wondering if you would look over a piece of music for a friend of mine," he repeated again, more slowly.

"Sure. Um, I don't know where your house is, maybe we could meet somewhere? In about half an hour?"

"That sounds great. In front of the ice cream place?" with perhaps unnecessary enthusiasm.

"Great, see you there." I had half an hour to get thirty miles on my _bike_, combined with any buses I could find, to go somewhere that sounded, all of a sudden, like a _date_. Bugger.

Luck and the city transit system were with me, and I made it to the ice cream place with perhaps thirty seconds to spare. Erik was standing in front of it with the air of someone who had been waiting for some time. "I am _not_ late," I preempted any accusations of being thus by saying.

"I wasn't even going to mention it. Here's the piece, and do you want some ice cream?" He offered me a manila folder (like the ones in the back of his car, I remembered) and further solidified my fears that this could be a date. Part of me (though not a large part) wanted to say no (as I've said, my heart belongs to my darling Jared) but something in his eyes reminded me of when Deea did puppy dog eyes, and the reply forced its way through my lips without my consent.

"Okay." Again, the smile that lit up his whole face, and I felt guilty for considering refusing. "And I shall completely forget that I just ate breakfast." Well, we both got ice cream (mine was mint-chocolate-m'n'm-cookie-dough and his was chocolate, for those who care) and I was astounded to discover that this antisocial boy, irrespective of his looks, was such a genuinely interesting person. "I'm sorry," I confessed to him when we were leaving, "I'm afraid that I believed stereotypes and related evils. I had no idea you…well, I had no idea you were such a great person."

"I wouldn't be so quick to call me that," he said, sadness brightening his glowing eyes. "I'm—"

"No you're not. I have a very sensitive weirdness detector," I assured him. And I was being completely honest.

"Thanks, Katie. That means a lot to me." Another glowing smile, and I sternly reminded myself that I loved Jared. Erik had friend-potential (a valuable quality these days, though), nothing more. "Do you need a ride home?"

Oh, no, it's only thirty miles, on a bike, on a full stomach. "No thanks, I've got my bike."

"Well, see you on Monday then, bye," he said. Resignedly. He said it resignedly, in a 'she agreed to come at all and you should be grateful' way. I stuffed the folder of music (which, no, I had not forgotten) into my purse and started for home.

With the bus ride, the trip home was forty minutes, which gave me plenty of time to think about Erik. I wasn't being stuck-up when I spoke of his resignation when I refused his offer of a ride home, he wasn't the first boy to have a crush on me, and I recognized the signs. That's all I thought it was, though, a crush. And he wasn't the worst boy to have a crush on me (no, _that_ title went to the 12-year-old science geek when I was at summer camp), he just wasn't Jared. _He's nicer than Jared. _Jared_ wouldn't give you the time of day._

_He just…_

_Just nothing. He even refused to acknowledge your existence when you got Christine!_ For that I had no argument.

I wasn't a particularly good piano player, but I sat down in front of ours anyway to try Erik's music. _Darn, that stuff looks complicated…_

_God, that's amazing._ And it was. Even just the melody, even in my clumsy hands, was hands-down the most impressive I had ever heard. I played on, enthralled. And when I finished, I was left with even more to think about.

I replayed my phone conversation with Erik in my head. _"I was wondering if you would look over a piece of music of mi—for a friend."_ 'Of mi—', could that have been 'of mine'? If that's true, and this beautiful piece was something he'd written…

Erik must be a genius.

Then I thought about his physical appearance…strangely skeletal. Erik from the book was skeletal…I knew that my thoughts were ridiculous, but I was on a role. Erik from the book had a fantastically beautiful voice…_my_ Erik had a fantastically beautiful voice…Erik Mercer had a fantastically beautiful voice.

My dream—the Phantom from the movie had metamorphosed before my eyes into the Phantom from the book, though I hadn't yet read the book. And—and—

_How could I have been so stupid?!_ My Erik, the Erik in my head, and Erik Mercer, and Erik from the book, had to be related or something…heck, they might be the same people, no, that couldn't work, because in Erik Mercer, the skeletal effect was diluted, as if by several generations…

_Okay, you idiotic girl, the facts._

_Erik Mercer, my Erik, and Erik in the book are musical geniuses._

_You don't know that Erik wrote…yes, fine, you do._

_Erik Mercer, Erik from the book, and my Erik are somewhat skeletal in appearance. And they all have glowing golden eyes._

_If your Erik is the person from your dream._

_He is._

_Well? Make up your mind._

_My Erik is the Phantom. He is Erik Mercer's four-times-great grandfather._

_Are you sure?_

_Yes._ Yes, I was sure. And I still had way too much to think about, and too much unexplained. (For example, how did the Phantom have kids at all?) But I was sure.

_Monday is going to be weird…_ And then,

_I have to talk to my Erik about this_

* * *

And there you have it! Katie's epiphany, and congrats to those of you (the ones who are neither deaf, blind, or monumentally stupid) who figured it out before she did. Please review, constructive criticism is welcome as well!


	5. Chapter 5

Oh, god, I really don't know what I'm doing with this chapter. And I apologize in advance for my miserable attempts to put new words to the Phantom of the Opera, but it was necessary.

* * *

I had barely figured this out before I toppled off the piano bench and raced for the woods, barefoot again. "Erik!" I shouted as I ran, "Erik!" For the first time ever, he wasn't there when I reached our lesson spot. "Erik!" I bellowed again. _Okay, think. Think…how can you get Erik to pay attention to you…_Sing. It was an idiotic plan, but…_I have to try._

_People'll hear you!_

_No one will hear you except Erik, which, of course, you want!_

_But…but…but I sound like an idiot when I try to write songs!_

_Just go for it!_ I took a deep breath, and began my stupid song. _"You are a voice I hear inside my head, yet maybe you are not a sign I'm mad. 'Cause there's a boy who sings a lot like you…you're the Phantom of the Opera right here, teaching again."_ Feeling bolder at the lack of hysterical laughter, I went on._ "Christine chose you and not the…_um_…other one. That would explain a lot, like Erik's song. I think the movie made some big mistakes…the Phantom of the Opera still lived, and he had kids."_

—Enough! Shut up!—

I grinned. Well, Erik was back, at least.

—If you _ever_ dare to pervert my songs in this fashion again, you will regret it.— Each word was filled with murderous rage, but I wasn't afraid.

"Well?" I asked. "Horrid perversion of your music aside, and anyway I thought it was Andrew Lloyd Weber's, was I right?"

A sound like a sigh rippled through my brain, and a distinctly less furious voice sounded. —You were mostly right.—

He told me everything, or, at least, it seemed like everything. To make a (ridiculously) long story short, the stories had always gotten it wrong. And Christine ended up with Erik. When he finally finished, it was getting dark, and though I hadn't sang a note (except my own idiotic song), he left.

—Katie, our lesson today is over.— And his voice disappeared again. To tell the truth, I was glad. I had too much to wrap my head around, to many emotions inside one person. Erik, for one. _I should probably tell him… Not tonight, it's too late, but tomorrow…_ Plus I was happy that the movie and the book and every Phantom of the Opera story ever created had gotten it wrong. Deliriously happy.

I half-started for Deea's house, then quickly turned back when my heart squeezed. _Deea was gone…_

The rest of the day, I divided my time between the piano and staring at my pictures of myself, Deea, Anna Bobson, Therese Hoffmeyer, Emily Zi, all my lost friends, trying to decide what to do with them. I tore them down and stuffed them in the trash, then thirty seconds later dug them back out, smoothed them gently, and placed them in an album. And repeated the process.

Again, the rest of the time I sat before the piano, carefully working out Erik's piece. I just loved to listen to it. Still, playing it, knowing that _Erik_, a boy who couldn't be more than a year or so older than me, had written it…wouldn't you find that a bit disturbing?

Mom came back and found me in a mood very similar to the one I'd been in the morning.

Next morning, I got up early, dressed, and went for the phone. I wondered vaguely why I hadn't called Erik earlier. Then I wondered what his number was. After pressing far too many buttons, I found it. Dialed. The phone rang once, and I realized that it was seven in the morning. Mom wandered into the hall, yawning, and I was saved from hanging up by a voice at the other end. "Hello?" There was no mistaking that (amazingly wide awake) voice.

"Hi, Erik? It's Katie," I said, then, glancing at my mother, "I was just making sure you remembered the…um…the practice session today that we agreed on."

"What?"

"Remember, Erik?" Please, just take the hint. "We agreed that you'd come pick me up so we could get some extra practice in."

"Oh…oh, right. I'll be there soon."

"Great. Bye, Erik." I hung up. Mom was looking at me curiously. "Oh, yeah, Mom, sorry I forgot to tell you, Erik and I decided to get together today to practice."

"All right, Katie, but before you go, I want to meet him. Remember the rules…" Ah, yes, the Rules. The rules where I was barely allowed to talk to a boy before Mom met him.

I fidgeted for the half-hour before Erik got here. Went upstairs, then down again, into the kitchen, the living room, repeat sequence. I played his piece, flipped through the script for Phantom, absently stroked the cat when she went near me. I wasn't at all sure I wanted to tell Erik at all, but it was like my lessons—some small, annoying instinct told me to. And I just can't say no to small, annoying instincts.

"Hello. Is Katie there?" I heard Erik say. He'd managed to get in without my noticing it.

"I'm right here, Erik," I said, coming into the hall. "Um, Erik, this is my mom. Mom, this is Erik," in response to Mom's warning glare.

"Nice to meet you, Erik. Have a good time, Katie." I ducked out the door. Erik was looking at me quizzically.

"What's all this about?"

"Can't tell you yet, Erik. It's…complicated. I mean, I'm grateful that you came, with no explanation and all that, it's just…I just can't tell you yet," I said nervously. We got into his car. I fiddled with my seatbelt and glanced back at the piles of paper in the backseat. If that was all music. "The piece you gave me, by the way…it was amazing. Probably the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."

"Thank you—I mean, my friend will be pleased to hear it," he said. I sighed.

"It's too bad…" you don't think you can trust me with your music.

"All right, Katie. What's wrong with you? Why am I here?" Erik demanded angrily.

"Now I really can't tell you."

"Why?!"

"Because I don't want you to crash the car. And trust me, that is a distinct possibility," I warned him. He, being not an idiot, pulled over to the side of the road and stopped.

"There. Now I won't kill anyone, and we aren't going anywhere until you tell me what urgent thing couldn't possibly wait until Monday," he said. And so I told him everything, about Erik, about what I'd figured out last night, every detail.

"And Erik, I know that the piece you gave me was yours." Erik looked at me for a long time, an uncomfortably long time. Then he laughed, a horrible, harsh sound that bore no relation to any real laugh.

"Well, I'm glad you made me stop driving for that." And he pulled back out to the road, driving dangerously fast.

"Erik! What are you doing?!" I half-shrieked as he sped past a semi truck.

"Katie will see…Erik will show her everything soon…" Erik had a terrifying expression on his face, which, twisted as it was, seemed more grotesque than ever.

And he was talking like Erik in the book. _I'm scared…he's scaring me…_

_It's Erik…what will he do?_

_I…I don't know…I don't want to be stuck in a car with him!_

_It's not for nothing that Mom made me take tae kwon do in fourth grade…I'll be okay._

_I don't know…_I quivered as Erik drove recklessly on, occasionally glancing over at him. His face was still set in that terrifying, twisted expression. "Erik…Erik you're scaring me what's going on?"

He only repeated, "Katie will see, she will see everything soon." I fell silent again. Then I started laughing. This was ironic… "What is so funny?!"

"It's just…ironic…" I choked through my bitter mirth. _I think I can sympathize with Christine now…I know I thought I would do so much more, but now…now I get it._ Erik made a violent turn onto a narrow road and then onto a driveway. The driveway led up to a small, rather run-down gray house. Erik parked, and I got out hurriedly, glancing around to see if I could get away, but Erik grabbed my arm and half-dragged me into the house, down a flight of dimly lit steps to a dark cave of a basement. I shrunk back as Erik began lighting candles.

_Okay, Kate, you can either quiver like a lump of unflavored Jello or you can forget being like Christine and do something!_ I tried to keep my voice from shaking as I spoke. "Erik, _what_ is going on? What's wrong with you?!" He didn't answer. "Erik!" Still no answer. "Erik, _please_ tell me what's going on. Please."

Erik slowed, and his expression suddenly changed. He sagged over the candle he was lighting. "Erik…" I reached over and touched his arm gently. "Erik, it's okay…"

"No. It is most certainly not okay." His voice was flat and lifeless, and his eyes were filled with such sadness and remorse that I was ashamed of my fear, of putting those emotions into anyone. "I lost control, Katie, in a way I haven't lost control for years. And then my father was there and knew what was going on. I could have hurt you…could have hurt anyone."

"But you didn't, Erik, it really doesn't matter…really. It's okay." I moved closer to him. He was shaking.

"Katie, go look at the organ," he said tiredly. I looked in the direction he indicated and saw an organ I hadn't noticed. I approached it carefully, like it might bite, but I got there, and picked up the music sitting on the stand. Another terrifyingly complicated piece. I sat down while shuffling through the music, trying to find the first page. When I did, I gasped. There was one word at the top of the page (well, two actually, but one had been crossed out): Katie.

I gasped softly, and sat down to try it. Oh,_ god…_I looked up at Erik, awed and confused and too many things to name. Erik took a few steps toward me, I closed the rest of the distance between us, and wrapped my arms around him. We both stood there for a while, leaning on each other for support.

Erik muttered something into my hair. "What did you say?" I asked.

"Katie…I love you."

_Oh, god…_

* * *

Okay, if you want an explanation as to how Erik ended up with any children at all, well, my sincerest apologies that I cannot provide that, but all my attempts came out wrong. If you want an explanation for how it could have happened, I recommend _Christine's Tale_, by Fennaria, which is truly wonderful and very realistic. Yell at me if you like, but please do it by means of REVIEWING!


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks to Reiko Rose (again! I owe you so much…), The Little Corinthian, kittycatgo, and Word-Wizard. Rose-it's so early in the story because I can't think of enough to fill out the story. Yes, it's obvious, but yes, you have been warned, multiple times, that this story is not designed to make sense or be particularly realistic. And what the crap is the Banana Song? (do I even want to know?...) Also, sorry it took me so long to update. First it took me forever to decide to just leave it here, then it wouldn't upload...

* * *

I broke the embrace to look at him. "You mean—"

"I mean I love you. Not just a crush."

_Oh, god. As if my life weren't weird enough._

_He loves you. How is that bad?_

_It just…I mean, I'm fifteen! How can he even know?_

_You trust him, don't you?_

_Um, do I?_

"Erik…"

"It's okay. I understand."

Darn my stupid hyperactive crying reflex! "I believe you. Can you, um, take me home?" I was now speaking around a lump in my throat. He nodded. Sadly. More tears oozed from my eyes.

The ride home was just as awkward as the going trip, if for different (very different) reasons. And I was left, again, with far too much to think about and far too much time for thinking. This was a thousand times worse than the 12-year-old at camp. A hundred thousand times worse because that had only been for a week. This was for the rest of the year at least, and the highly embarrassing scenes in Phantom…_oh, what have I gotten myself into?_ And I answered myself easily: a mess.

My mood did not improve, and Erik, when I went for my lesson, was not helping. "Darn you and your stupid genes," I muttered when I had a free breath.

—What are you talking about?!—

"Erik Mercer…it's complicated. And it is so ridiculously like _your_ own story that I _know_ it is your fault."

—It is pointless to attempt a conversation when half refuses to make sense.— And then he made me start singing again, and when the lesson was over, disappeared before I could get a word in edgeways.

I very nearly didn't go to school on Monday…too much had happened. Deea, Erik, my life exploding… "But Mom, I'm sick!" I protested, as Mom not-so-gently urged me from my bed. I should have known better—Mom had let me stay home from school three times since fifth grade, and she wasn't about to change now.

"You don't have a fever, you aren't throwing up, you're fine! Now get UP, or god help me I will drag you to school in your pajamas!" Mom was almost screaming at me. She hadn't done this for a while, but then, it had been a while since I had so resisted getting up in the morning, and her life wasn't exactly perfect either.

"Mom, please!" I moaned, my head still buried beneath a pillow. "Just…just this once. Please, Mom!" My beloved, understanding, caring mother yanked the pillow from over my head. I whimpered, looked up, and saw that her face was red with barely restrained laughter. "HOW IS THIS FUNNY?!" I bellowed. Mom collapsed, and I kept the angry look on my face for as long as I could before realizing how ridiculous it all was and laughing with her.

"Oh, sweetie…c'mon. Get up. I'll drive you, you don't have to take the bus today." I got up, but as we neared the school, all mirth disappeared and the tears threatened again. Mom kissed my forehead and I got out of the car, wondering if I should just make a break for it. I didn't.

I don't really want to think about that torturous Monday. I really, really don't. Especially not Phantom rehearsal (it was hard to believe it was the first one). _Deea wasn't even civil to you. Funny how much can change in 3 days._

_People are never civil to me. I should be used to it by now._ Tuesday wasn't much better. I wasn't used to being alone, I realized. Before, there had been Anna and Therese and Emily, and later, even when it was only Deea, she was always there. I'd thought of myself as a loner, mostly, someone who didn't need people, and it was slightly embarrassing to discover how wrong I was. Alone. I was completely alone, and I didn't like it. All alone, surrounded by people… _And you can tell you're depressed when you start thinking in bad poetry._

_It wasn't that bad! Okay, fine, it was. Be grateful you didn't get the whole thing._

One person had (without my prior knowledge or consent) given himself a small niche in my life, and I'm sure it doesn't take too much imagination to figure out who that was. It wasn't really unexpected that some of the brightest parts of my new life as Less Than Nothing were had with Erik, because with Erik, I wasn't less than nothing. _I was considerably more…but I am_ not _going to think about that!_ It wasn't blatant, it wasn't romantic, it was just slightly-more-than-friendship. He drove me home from school, we ate lunch together, I told him everything I knew about Erik, things that he should have already known and that I should have been telling Deea. Only in one arena did Erik really fall short—he didn't really understand about Deea. Having never had any friends (or so he told me, I didn't know whether to believe him or not), he couldn't understand my obsession—and it was becoming an obsession—with what made all mine abandon me. One such conversation went as follows.

* * *

We were sitting at a table in the corner of the cafeteria. I wouldn't have been there voluntarily, but outside it was raining and a degree above freezing, and the chorus room was closed for some unknown reason. Deea was sitting with a group of girls I didn't even know… "I had no idea…I mean, _look_ at her!" I guestured expansively in Deea's direction, ignoring the beginnings of irritation on Erik's face. "Maybe I was the one holding her back from…oh, I don't know, having a life!"

"Katie…"

"And it would be so horrible if there's just something about me that—"

"Katie! Will you shut up already!" I glanced up at him, my eyes bugging out of my head. Wow, he could be scary when he was mad, especially when he was trying to be quiet about it. "You have done nothing but babble about Deea and how horrible your life is and—"

"And be miserable and make everyone around me ie you miserable as well and I'm sorry I'll stop, changing the subject now!" I wasn't blushing—people never do that in real life, have you noticed?—but embarrassment filled me, and I busied myself with my goldfish. "I really am sorry," I mumbled through a mouthful. "I just hate…" I just hated seeing her happy when I was miserable. I just hated looking at her and seeing 10 years of memories, now ignored. I hated making my only friend in the world unhappy.

"It's okay. Really." _Oh, dear. You were just speaking out loud._ "I hate it when you're miserable too." I glanced up at him and gave him a limp, shaky smile. All my smiles were limp and shaky these days.

* * *

Sorry for the shortness of this chapter and the amount of time it took me to update, I'm just tapped out for the moment. Please review! (although considering how I've treated you, I really don't deserve it…) I really don't like this chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

Hello again! It is I, your beloved (sweetdarkchild: giggles) authoress, returning to add mundanity to your lives. Or something. Thanks to Reiko Rose, who has reviewed for every single chapter (although I really never have heard of the banana phone song)!!!!!! and to WordWizard. Glad you liked it, by the way. So yeah!

Life has this annoying habit of continuing even when you really, really wish it wouldn't. Funny how that works…and my life, if that title is the correct one, was no exception. I spent a really inordinate amount of time with Erik, even more than I had with Deea, if I thought about it, which I generally tried not to do.

My birthday, on October 28th, was particularly bleak. I couldn't remember celebrating it without Deea—even when she'd been living in North Dakota for a year and a half. Then she'd called me and sent a present, and I did the same for her birthday—but this year there was nothing of the sort, she didn't even say hi in the hallway. Erik—well, either he'd been conspiring with my mom, stalking me, or both (probably the last), because there was a party (if a gathering of three people deserves that name) waiting for me after Phantom rehearsal. For Mom's sake I tried to enjoy it, though as sixteenth birthdays went, it probably sucked. I wouldn't know, and neither did Erik, apparently.

Erik had, predictably, many more depths than simply being the four-times-great-grandson of the Phantom of the Opera. He had skipped a grade, was in all AP and honors courses with top grades (one would say 'of course')…_and still finds time to stalk me_…well, intellectually, he was basically what you'd expect from someone of his…lineage. His parents were both dead, and had been since he was 14, an incident he wouldn't speak about, nor would he talk about his parents. The first time I asked, he shut up like a clam and wouldn't say anything for the rest of the day. I didn't ask after that. He was not well versed in the ways of birthday parties.

On Halloween (we were allowed to wear 'appropriate,' will someone define that word for me, please? costumes to school) he dressed up as Erik from the Leroux book, and I as Christine. An unimaginative, private joke between us, and that day, still dressed in our costumes, I went to get my driver's liscense. Not that it meant anything, even if I'd wanted to drive myself home instead of going with Erik, I doubt he would have let me. Much as I'd have liked to deny it (it seemed unfaithful to Deea, somehow, that I could be happy without her), I was enjoying myself. Most of the time.

I was spacing out at rehearsal—for the past 20 minutes they had been working a scene that had nothing to do with me—when I heard male voices coming from behind a set piece. Ever the eavesdropper (a horrible habit I'd tried, without success, to break), I edged closer, trying to remain invisible. It wasn't hard, half my life had been invisibility—

"…man, no! She's, like, ugly!"

"C'mon! Just once, then you dump her on her ass."

"Yeah, but really—"

"C'mon, man! I _dare_ you to do it."

"Y'know how old that is, right?"

"Yeah, whatever, I _dare_ you."

"Fine, whatever. God, you are so _annoying_."

The guys came out from behind the set piece—Jared and another boy I didn't recognize. They didn't see me, hidden in the shadows of the backstage. _What were they talking about?!_

_One of them's obviously going out with some girl for a dare._

_God, I thought_ dares _went out in fifth grade!_

_Poor girl…whoever she is. Half the female population of the school is in love with Jared…_

"Katie!" The hiss came from Alexis. She was in chorus with me, never upset anyone, hadn't tried for Christine though she was a really good singer. I gave her a grateful look and immediately directed my attention to the stage. Her warning had been just in time, we were at a part that involved me. _Not everybody hates you. Alexis doesn't, never has, and I can think of at least three other people._

_Not everybody hates you._

_Not everybody hates you._ I wanted to believe it. Maybe it was true.

"Erik? Does everyone hate me?" I asked him as we drove toward my house. Probably a stupid question, but I was bored.

"I don't hate you. Do I not count?" he asked, sounding offended. Fake-offended. Then, more seriously, "No. I don't think so, and I do pay attention. It's easy to see in from the outside, Katie."

"Don't remind me," I muttered. It was definitely true. "Who doesn't hate me?"

"Um…"

"Ha! You claim to be so wise in these things, but when asked to give an example—"

"Alexis Youngman," he cut me off, "Martin Hunter, almost the entire chorus, really, a great many people who you don't know—" Before I could protest, he cut me off. "But I know them, or at least I know about them, and they talk about you. _They_ like you. And, of course," here he gave that smile, "your obedient servant, O.G."

Someday, that would cease to be funny, but until then, it was hilarious. "It was a stupid question anyway," I conceded. "And even stupider to ask _you_, of all people, who couldn't tell me—" And here I stopped, because going on would mean reminding everyone present about that Sunday. A day I really didn't want to think about.

There was so much I tried not to think about. Deea, Erik, Erik (the voice inside my head)…and that Erik had not disappeared from my life. Quite the opposite—every second I had that wasn't eating, sleeping, or at school, it seemed, was spent with my nonexistent voice teacher. He demanded perfection, and perfection is not an easy thing for anyone, let alone a partially-depressed sixteen-year-old. I did scream a lot…but when everything went well, I renewed my many promises to myself, and these made me keep going when I wanted to kill someone. Several someones. Anyone nearby, in fact, although a physical manifestation of Erik would have been best.

Deea—the situation with Deea did not improve. She ignored me, I gazed longingly in her general direction. By November I'd stopped trying to talk to her. Every evening, before I went to bed, I gazed long and hard at the many pictures of us together. My hand would hover over the trash can, but at the last minute I would change my mind and put them on the desk, where they waited to be taken out again.

And then there was Erik. He was becoming as much a constant as Deea had been, and more. I tried not to think about it, and it was easy, most of the time. We never acted like more than friends. I was…grateful…ish… _Don't even think about that! How dare you be unfaithful to Jared!_

_Unfaithful? He barely knows I exist!_

_You promised him your heart, you idiotic girl. Erik is a_ friend.

_Aren't you glad you have_ me?

_Shut up!_

Erik was always wonderful to me. And in return, I was utter crap to him. Once. Just once, and that was enough.

We sat in our customary lunch table in the corner of the cafeteria. I had leftovers, Erik had an apple, which I would, at some point, nag, ahem, cajole him into eating. I was staring at Jared, Erik was staring alternately at the ceiling and me. A typical lunch for us.

Jared stood up. I watched him, admiring every aspect of him as he moved away from his table and toward our corner. Wait…Jared was coming over _here_? Yup, he was. I busied myself with my cold soup, feeling Erik's eyes burning into my forehead, the only part of my face he could see. "Hey, Katie?" Jared. I reveled in his voice but noticed, to my disappointment, that it sounded rough and boring compared to my Eriks. _Darn you, Erik! How dare you invade my love for Jared!_

"Hi, Jared. What's up?" I cringed at how foolish I sounded, but he didn't appear to notice.

"So, um, I was wondering if…you wanted to, um, do something this weekend. You know, a movie or something."

I surreptitiously pinched myself. Jared Smith was _not_ asking me out. Or maybe he was. I beamed up at the boy who had occupied my fantasies for a year or more. "Yeah, sure, that sounds great!" I gushed. The educated part of my mind chided the rest of me for sounding like an idiot. The human part drowned it out with the chant, _I've got a date with Jar-ed! I've got a date with Jar-ed!_

"Great! So, um, I'll pick you up at, say, seven? Saturday?"

"Yeah. Great." I repeated. A _DATE!!!!!_ Jared walked away, and I turned back to Erik, a blissful smile on my face, only to meet his terrible glare. "What?" The words had barely left my mouth before I remembered exactly what. I wished I could call them back, but it was too late. Erik stood and left without a word. He still gave me a ride home, but we didn't speak throughout the entire drive, and for once I longed for my own car so I could avoid…this. _Erik's my friend. I honestly didn't mean to hurt him…_

_George Bush probably didn't_ mean _to start the Iraq war. But it doesn't matter. You did anyway._

Sorry bout the G.B. thingy-more-other, it was the only one I could think of. Please review! The more reviews I get the sooner I'll update!


	8. Chapter 8

Okay, before I give you the next chapter, I'd like you all to ponder an interesting phenomenon with me. In my school chorus, there is a sophomore named Katherine (goes by Katie) G. She is pretty shy, loves singing but doesn't consider herself particularly good, and usually sits by herself. Her birthday is October 8th. Perhaps I'm overdoing it by asking her if she's heard voices in her head yet, but who knows? Another phenomenon, less complimentary—I was browsing the phanfic archive and noted to my distress that this story is not as original as I first though, but for one thing—Katie is _not_ a modern-day Christine, Kristine, Kristina, or any variation on that. Nor is Jared a modern-day Raoul, Ray, Robert, whatever. They're both random people. Still, it was a serious ego-ruiner. All the original stuff was taken ages ago.

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_I'm sorry._ No. _It's not about you._ No, not that either…

_What am I doing? Why am tearing my guts out over accepting a date with_ Jared? _It's not as if Erik and I are going out or anything. He doesn't have any right to get mad, and I shouldn't have to apologize._

_He's your friend._

_Would I have had to apologize to Deea? No, I thought not. How's this any different?_

_Don't ask stupid questions. Deea wasn't_ in love _with you._

_Shut up, oh voice of reason._ I was not going to _care_ about Erik, I had a date with Jared! Jared, who I had loved for a year or more. A huge, floating happiness buoyed me through Friday, though it was severely impaired riding home with Erik. I did not apologize for anything. He didn't say anything at all, and for the first time, I really regretted not getting myself to school, rather than relying on a person who, for all intents and purposes, hated me. Well, not hated me. 'Was pretty pissed at' was probably better…

I was not going to care about Erik, and I was not going to let it ruin my date. I _wasn't_. Neither he nor his frustrating ancestor was even going to cross my mind. Or so I firmly told myself. If this had happened two months, a month, even a few weeks ago, I wouldn't be having all these…thoughts, but the crucial time had passed, and Erik—we weren't 'going out' as such, but we were still friends. More than friends. _Are you stupid, Katie? This is Jared!_

_Jared who until recently seemed unaware of your existence._

And, for the second (and not the last) time that day, _Shut up, oh voice of reason. You have no place in my mind today._

I probably fussed over my outfit (which ended up as jeans and a t-shirt, despite my best efforts) more than was necessary, but what did I care? It was my first bloody date! Unless you counted that day with Erik—which I _**DIDN'T**_!

At seven fifteen on Saturday, Jared's red truck pulled up our driveway. True, he was fifteen minutes late, but it didn't really matter. And Mom wasn't home, so I didn't have to explain who Jared was, why he was trying to take away her precious baby, and his contact information in case I was assaulted or something. Of course I didn't just walk out on my mother (I left her a very nice note, in fact), but I literally sprinted down the driveway to where Jared was waiting for me. He grinned at me when I leapt enthusiastically in, and I reveled in it.

The movie was completely average: two football players who got shipped to the cheerleaders' camp by mistake. I barely paid it any attention, I was too busy watching Jared (as surreptitiously as I could). It hardly seemed worth all my agonizing to be able to watch Jared drink a coke to the backdrop of a more-or-less plotless movie. Not even Jared—I was irritated. Yes, it was my first date, but my friends (a million eternities ago) had described their dates to me. You didn't just _sit_ there.

The movie finished. Some happy nonsense, like the rest of it. I followed Jared out of the theater—he ignored me and pulled out his cell phone. "I did it, alright? And you'd better have my 20 bucks!"

"Wha—hey, Jared, what's going on?" I demanded, trying to grab his arm.

"Get the f*** away from me!" He glared at me and almost ran off to his car.

"Wait!" Crud! I didn't have any other way to get home! And really, what the crap was going on?

"_C'mon! Just once, then you dump her on her ass." "Yeah, but really—" "C'mon, man! I __dare__ you to do it." "Y'know how old that is, right?" "Yeah, whatever, I __dare__ you." "Fine, whatever. God, you are so _annoying_."_

Oh. _Oh,_ god!! _How could I have been so_ blind! _I was such an idiot!!_

_And Erik…oh, god, Erik!_

_Please…I don't know…please just let this have all been a horrible excuse for a dream…_

_Alright, the facts._

_Jared dated me for a dare. A_ dare. _And I may have ruined any hope of friendship with Erik because of it…_And _I have no ride home. No bike, no bus, can't call Mom, can't call Erik (god forbid that I call Erik about this)…_

Life sucked at that moment. I _did_ have a cell phone, but who was I supposed to call? On the off-chance that Mom didn't have the police after me (it was about 8:30), she wouldn't come. And Erik—if _he_ even answered, I didn't want to face him. I was an _idiot._

_Is there anyone in the phone who doesn't hate me?_ Most of the numbers were from years ago that I hadn't bothered to delete. Therese, no, Anna, no, Deea, no, Maddy, no, Alexis…maybe? I hesitantly clicked on her name. It was way too much to expect from a girl who was a casual aqquaintance at best, but… "Alexis? Um, it's Katie."

"Oh, hi, Katie! Listen, um, I'm kind of in a—"

"Alexis, I'm so sorry, just gimme a sec, it's really important! I can't explain right now, but…can you pick me up from the movie theater? I know it's a huge favor to ask, but…" My voice shook, and she must have heard.

"Katie—okay. Great. I'll be there in five minutes, tops."

"Thanks, Alexis, you have no idea how much I owe you for this." She hung up. My mission accomplished, I allowed myself to sink to the ground against the wall, no longer resisting the tears that usually quivered at the edge of my thoughts. Erik, Jared, it was all a painful jumble in the painful jumble that was my mind. Alexis's mom's car pulled up four minutes later, and I wiped the tears across my face and got in. "Thanks, Alexis. I'm really sorry about this…"

"It's no problem, Katie. I'm taking you home, right?"

"How do you know where I live?" I asked tearfully.

"Your mom hosted some PTA thingy that my parents made me go to, ages ago." She eyed me worriedly. "Katie, am I allowed to ask what all this's about?"

"Alexis…you remember that day at rehearsal?" She nodded, looking confused. "So, I was listening to…um…some guys…talking, and one of them dared the other to…um, ask some girl out, and then, a few days later, one of the guys…asked me out, and I thought it was for real…" I trailed off.

"Let me finish—and you were the girl they were talking about, and he just dumped you out here?" I nodded. "Katie, it was Jared."

"How did you know?" I was too startled to deny it.

"Well, for one, it's kind of obvious how much you like him, and don't kill me for saying it! For another…Jared does this kind of thing all the time. He goes through at least five girls a year like this." I stared at her, stunned.

"How do you know this much?" I demanded. I (well, it was really Erik's idea, but it made sense) thought it was easier to learn from the outside—better to be outside the fishbowl than to be one of the fish. But I'd never even heard of that…

"I pay attention, I keep people from getting mad at me, I use my eyes and ears…and stuff gets around."

Sounded like a better policy than not caring at all, being immune to anger because I was already at the bottom and couldn't go any lower. Anyway, I had gone lower. Now I didn't even have Erik. There was no way I could.

Having ruined Saturday in misplaced jubilation about my second (I really didn't want to consider something so horrible my first) date, I was left with the eternity of Sunday to fill. I stalked angrily into the woods for what I hoped would be a _long_ lesson—about a year or so would suffice—wrapped in my heaviest coat, wishing I could live somewhere warm. Hawaii, perhaps. Or North Carolina, according to my cousin, it didn't get actually cold until late December.

Either I was reduced to the crap I had been when I'd begun, or Erik was in a uniquely foul mood. Everything (and I mean everything, from my scales to things he'd already pronounced as perfect as he could make them) was wrong, horribly wrong. I was voting for the foul mood, though what could cause such a thing in the afterlife (or whatever Erik was doing) I had no idea.

The main problem (the one that came up most often) seemed to be a lack (a 'total, utter, pathetic lack') of emotion. My voice was dead, even I could hear it. I could feel it when I sang, too, could feel the nothingness. True, I still sounded okay, but my ear had been sharpened by exposure to Erik. There was something missing. I just had no idea how to put it back.

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Perhaps I shouldn't be giving my friends (or casual acquaintances) bits in this thing, but the 'Alexis to the rescue' bit was kind of based on one of my friends rescuing me. Please review! I have very few reviewers, if you haven't reviewed, please do!


	9. Chapter 9

A thousand pardons for the prolonged delay in this chapter! Too many things happened at once...but hopefully let's just forgive, forget, and review?

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"I'm sorry."

"I'm not listening."

"It's not about you, I made a mistake—"

"Just leave me alone."

"Erik! Please! Just…just listen to me…" I had never liked begging. Even when I was little, I hardly ever begged. But now I was begging, I was even using the exact words I had scorned before my pathetic, miserable excuse for a date with Jared. _Please, Erik, I know I was horrible and—_

"Katie." Erik's beautiful voice was tired, annoyed, and carried a bitter edge I'd never heard before. "I honestly don't care. Please, can you just accept that and drop it?"

"Do I have to sing at you?" I demanded. "Please, please Erik, if you would just give me thirty seconds I could explain—"

"I'm not going to say it again. Leave me alone." The bitter edge was sharper, now, as was the annoyance, and a carefully-contained fury I hadn't noticed before _and_ didn't want to notice ever, ever again. And without giving me any further time for my (feeble) protests, he walked away. I had only seen him during lunch, and the uniquely uncomfortable car rides to and from school. Had I known, I would have been grateful.

**Part of me (the better part, the one Father always insisted I had, despite our shared…troubles) wanted to forgive her, to let things go back to how they were before. And I didn't like to see her suffer. It pained me, doubly so because her suffering was my fault.**

**The rest of me almost enjoyed it. That part of me, the part that took certain pleasure in my heritage (I had a right, apparently, to be obsessive and insane) and I did not stop myself from comparing my story to that of my grandfather's.**

**And I certainly wasn't this calm when I got home on Thursday. I didn't let myself go downstairs where I kept everything of value, but certain old appliances did not survive that evening. When I came to what few senses I still possess…well…it wasn't as bad as it had been that day with Katie. For one, I had been completely alone.**

**I hadn't been entirely truthful when I said that my last…episode…was when my parents were still alive. But they hadn't been this bad (destroying things and/or endangering people) since then.**

**Hormones and hereditary insanity must not mix.**

Needless to say, I began driving myself to school.

And I really, really don't want to think about Phantom rehearsals. My (paltry) acting skills were just barely enough to get me through, considering the fairly explicit/intimate/whatever scenes that occurred between Christine and both of the boys who were currently the source of most of my misery. I became extremely skilled at stage kissing. Really, I think, no more needed to be said.

I was crying in the bathroom. Again. My sobs still reverberated, the floor was still slightly damp, the bathroom still smelled, but it wasn't as it had been before. Deea wasn't coming to rescue me this time…

"Katie?" A girl's voice (of course, it was the girl's bathroom), one I vaguely recognized. "Katie? It is you, right?"

"What do you want?" This miserably. "And how did you know who I was?"

"Your shoes. Will you please come out? It's hard to give pep talks to people hiding in the toilet stall."

Now I was curious to find just who this freak was, who memorized people's shoes and wandered the bathrooms giving 'pep talks.' I emerged from the toilet, and it took me a few seconds to find the speaker: a tiny girl (a freshman, she was too small to be anything else) with a dandelion puff of blonde hair and startled, jewel-blue eyes peering out from a pale face. Now I recongnized her-Morgan McKinley from chorus. Why she knew what my shoes looked like I had no idea. She beamed at me.

"Thank you."

"Why do you know what my shoes look like?" I had almost stopped crying.

"I always memorize people's shoes. It's just one of those things you notice. And truthfully, I was kind of expecting to find you like this. I have been for a while." When I looked at her in utter shock, she shrugged. "Because of whatever happened with Erik. You didn't break up, because you weren't going out, but something happened. He's pretty miserable about it too. Not like I go into _boy's_ bathrooms, but it is kind of obvious."

"How do you know Erik?" Just talking about it hurt a little, let alone talking about it to this diminutive freshman whom I hardly knew.

"Oh, random things. He spends a lot of time in the library, and so do I. And one afternoon, he took my favorite table upstairs—the one in the corner by the window—and we started talking. Or rather, I talked. He sat there and occasionally glanced at me. But he seemed _miserable._" When I said nothing, she added, "Whatever was going on before, I think you guys should get together again. You both seemed so happy."

"As if that would work," I snorted, forgetting for a moment that I barely knew this person.

"Really. I was listening to some of the Phantom rehearsals—"

"But Mr. Abbey doesn't let anyone anywhere near them!"

"From outside the theater. But I was listening—you guys sound perfect together. You sound right." And she ducked out of the bathroom before I could say another word. For a few moments, I was buoyed by some mysterious, inexplicable hope—that it might work. That I could just say sorry, and it would be okay.

These feelings vanished next period in chorus. I looked at Erik, standing innocuously with the tenors, and that soaring hope crumpled inside me. Our eyes met for a moment, nondescript gray with glowing yellow, and I turned away. There was the tiniest sigh from somewhere to my left—I turned to see Morgan, her shoulders slumped, looking at me with huge, reproachful blue eyes. She'd observed everything.

As if this wasn't enough, Erik-inside-my-head was angry with me. Rather, angrier than usual. Something, he insisted, was wrong with my singing, something I couldn't fix or change. —You sound _DEAD_!— he bellowed during one particularly – ahem – pleasant lesson.

_What the crap am I supposed to_ do _about that?!_ Because inside, I felt dead.

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Well, here you have it! In case you couldn't figure it out (not to insult your intelligence or anything) the bold was Erik's POV. I really suck at writing guys.

Please review!


	10. Chapter 10

This chapter is dedicated to I 4 2 write, without whom it would not exist. I have rather a lot to say about it, which in itself tells me that I should say nothing. However, I am so sorry for the extended delay. If any of you who read it when it was first conceived are still out there, waiting for an update… I plan to reward your patience by finishing this thing very soon.

Enjoy.

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Let's review, then. My life sucked, plain and simple. For the first time in my life, I was truly and completely without friends. Both Eriks in my life (human and spirit-ghost-whatever he called himself) were pissed at me. _And_, to top it off, I was currently in the midst of that unique torture known to all who have ever been in a play or musical or _anything_ of that sort as _Tech Week._ This meant rehearsals starting at 4:00 and not ending until ten or eleven at night. And homework.

Fun. Unutterably fun.

To top it off, it was _cold_. Bone-achingly, frigidly cold, record-breaking cold, no-recess-for-elementary-schoolers cold that surrounded you and penetrated you and told you that if you had any sense, you would stay well inside, preferably by a fire or at least a heating vent.

It was in such a season as this that my father died. Both my mother and I were acutely and miserably aware of this, and so I was in no mood for the universe to be laughing at me. The universe ignored me, in the form of my mother attempting to take me to the cemetery where my father was buried. I absolutely refused; while I liked to think that I was getting used to elements of _Phantom_ manifesting in my life (cough Erik cough), I didn't think I could do the trip-to-father's-graveyard-in-the-snow. But Mom _was_ going to that graveyard, so she left me with a few frozen meals and the promise of an elderly neighbor to look in on me and departed on Friday for the trip.

(There is a little back story here. My father grew up in a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere, and one of his last wishes was to be buried there. It was about an eight hour drive to get there from where we lived, which meant it took a bit of preparation to visit his grave. And I had been left home alone before.)

It was way too cold for me to have lessons with Erik outside, so at lunch, I would hide in one of the practice rooms by the chorus classroom and have my lesson there. It was somewhat risky from my perspective, as well as the fact that it deprived me of my lunch, but as I couldn't back up either of these (Erik saw no risk and also he had no need of lunch) Erik was determined that I would have lessons.

As it turned out, the 'risk' I had foreseen (not exactly a _risk_, more a vague fear that someone would find me) was well grounded. The same Friday my mother left—the last Friday before performances next week—Deea found me.

I was sitting in the practice room, drinking from a bottle of water, (Erik had disappeared suddenly) when I heard a noise from outside the door. I glanced up, not knowing what to expect, to see someone with Deea's big brown eyes—wild and frantic now—and her curly hair opening the door. I felt like a frightened animal in its burrow at that moment—my escape (the door) was blocked—and the predator (Deea) was closing in. Had I bothered to examine her expression, who knows what I would have found there in her eyes? But I didn't bother to examine anything; I just ran.

The chorus room had a door leading to outside, and out I dashed, Erik's protests ringing in my ears. I ignored them, bent only on _getting away._ It had been snowing again that day, it was cold, and I had only the thin sweater I wore to classes. The snow came up to my knees, slightly obstructing my progress towards the thin, scrubby woods that bordered a few sides of our school. I continued to run, my face and upper body lashed by whippy little branches that flung snow all over me.

At last I stopped. _This is getting me nowhere. Why am I here?_

_Fate,_ the inevitable other voice said. _Listen._

I listened, and heard the sound of footsteps. Not ever one to take common sense seriously, I moved as quietly as I could toward them, my shoes (to my faint surprise) making only the softest crunching sound now that I was no longer dashing headlong into the woods.

The other person was taking no such care; either that or their shoes were heavier than mine. I got fairly close before I was able to see who it was, and when I could, I didn't know whether to gasp in shock or sigh in resignation. It was unexpected and yet so classically obvious that I didn't know how I couldn't have guessed it.

It was Erik. _Of course_ it was Erik; who else would it be? With my luck, with the way the universe seemed determined to jumble up my existence into a mess of tears and references to stories that had everything to do with the boy standing in front of me, _who else would it fucking be?_

If he saw me, he didn't seem to care, and when I stepped a little closer and saw his face I understood why. It wasn't the face of a person trying not to cry; why would anyone, even a guy, try not to cry all alone in the scrubby, empty woods around our school?

No, it wasn't that face. My mother's face at my father's funeral, maybe, resembled what I saw in that face, but even that was somehow different. Not less, different. Erik's face was something I didn't want to put a name to, but if I had to, it would be _'Nobody Is Ever Going To Be Able To Tell Me That Teen Angst Is Transient Ever, Ever Again.'_

Yes, that captured something of the essence of it.

I looked away…

…right into Deea's eyes.

Something inside me broke, at that moment, standing there between two out of the three people I loved most in the world and who presently hated me. That's all I can put words to, that something broke. I sank to my knees, the snow soaking through the heavy denim of my jeans, _nonononononononononono_; I didn't care.

"Katie." I didn't know which of them spoke, at first, before I realized that it had been both of them, speaking in one broken, hoarse, misery-filled voice. Then Deea. "Katie. We can't explain."

"Oh no," said Erik, "we can." I felt myself begin to shake at the fury in his voice.

"I don't care," I half-wept.

"But Katie, you have to!" Deea shouted. "You can't just—"

"Yes I can!" I shouted. "I told you, _I don't care!_" My shriek hung in the icy air, echoing faintly. I floated above the earth, looking down from a distance. "Let me pass," I said, my voice very calm. I walked back along the path, not looking at them.

My car was in the school parking lot, covered in a light dusting of snow. My fingers trembled with cold and a sort of tightly controlled panic as I unlocked it and started the engine. I didn't know where I was going; I knew only that I needed to get away, damn the consequences, and god help the person who tried to stop me.

The roads, too, were covered with a light dusting of snow, but not to slippery.

—Katie.—

"No," I said aloud. "I'm not listening to you. Soon I won't be able to hear you, imagine that. You live inside my head, you're a figment of my imagination, so you must know where I am going. I am going to have you medicated out of existence and I will never sing again."

—I don't want to do this, Katie. Know that.—

"Do what?" I demanded, my voice becoming shrill. "What are you talking about?" But even as I spoke I felt my foot press the break pedal, felt the car jerk to a sudden stop and veer off the side of the road. Then blackness enfolded me, and I knew no more.

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Please review! They make my heart sing with joy, and my fingers dance with inspiration!


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